


you hold your breath and winter starts again (and everyone else is spring bound)

by thispapermoon



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: (omg i know right?), Depression, F/F, Healing, Light Hurt/Comfort, Two witches in love, discussions of depression, hecate hardbroom is a pent-angel, more hopeful than dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispapermoon/pseuds/thispapermoon
Summary: A tear rolls down Pippa’s cheek and Pippa brushes it away with impatient fingers.  “It’s not that I’m not trying,” she whispers.And Hecate thinks suddenly of her girls. Thinks of how there’s often a student or two, usually around their third year, who will suddenly start to struggle where they hadn’t ever before. Girls who stop coming to class. Or turn up with messy hair and dark eyes. She’s seen it more times than she can count.“Pippa,” she says softly, and rises, crossing over to sit on the settee beside her. Pippa doesn’t look at her, and Hecate, risking it all, reaches over and takes her hand.Slowly Pippa’s eyes travel the distance and come up to meet her own.“I just hoped there was, perhaps, a potion that could fix me,” she whispers and Hecate shakes her head.“Pippa,” Hecate breathes, squeezing her hand. “You are not broken.”****Pippa finds herself struggling. Hecate knows she isn't alone.





	you hold your breath and winter starts again (and everyone else is spring bound)

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write this for a while and i'm really happy with how it came out. not everyone goes through the same stuff the same way, i guess is the theme of this fic. 
> 
> love to you all. xo
> 
> title is from After All by the amazing Dar Williams :)

While Hecate Hardbroom loathes being late, she equally loathes arriving early.

Which is why it is so terribly painful for her to find herself sitting primly in her seat, pretending as though she’s busy - although she is certainly not - while waiting for the Educated Educators’ Witching Lecture Series to begin. It’s a particular sort of torture, and she curses herself, all the while valiantly attempting to avoid eye contact with any other witch foolish enough to have arrived a full twenty minutes early.

The other hapless witches mill around, reading their programs with affected concentration or looking about the hall with feigned interest - as though the still too empty room doesn’t feel tight with awkwardness - as though they all have some Great Purpose.

Hecate looks down to find that she’s crumbled her program without realizing it. Mashed it within a slightly sweaty palm as she’s perched, back ramrod straight, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.  

Waiting.

No, she reflects, as she attempts to smooth her crumpled program, arriving early is nearly as horrifying as arriving late. If not more so. At least one can make a statement with arriving late. Early is just a self-inflicted humiliation.

She much prefers arriving at precisely the right moment.

I

And leaving at precisely the right moment.

The truth is she’s holding onto hope that Pippa will be early as well. And that she’ll spy Hecate, front row and center, and come to sit by her. Which is why Hecate, full of a reckless, foolish, wayward heart, has subjected herself to this sad charade of unproductivity in order to make sure there’s ample seating on either side of her.

To give herself options.

Her neck prickles and the chalky, pastel paper of the program twists further between her anxious fingers. A few more witches arrive and she sends them such a scowl that they skirt her row completely before setting off towards the safety of the back.

The room is filling now. Witches appearing in twos and threes, chatting and laughing as they navigate through the chairs and settle down, conversations filling the space, giving it purpose until the program begins.

Sighing, Hecate glances towards the door again.

She had hoped Pippa would arrive long before now and they would have a little time together. Now she finds herself simply eager to see her. As she so often is. As she so often pretends not to be.

In her mind, she practices her greeting to Pippa. Aloof and surprised to see her.

It comes out perfectly in her head.  

The chairs are filling rapidly and a witch, oblivious to Hecate’s agitation, takes up the space to her left. It’s five minutes to seven and Hecate feels her stomach flutter every time the lecture room door swings open.

But there is no pink witch with golden hair.

No bright smile thrown her way.

Instead a dour looking hag squeezes through the rows and meets Hecate’s glare with one of her own. She plunks herself down in the last available seat, bag hitting Hecate’s knees, cloak slapping unceremoniously against her. Hecate has to shift her chair away least be covered in Scent of Hag for the entirety of the lecture.

Disappointment flares beneath her breastbone, but she pushes it down.

At least she’ll see Pippa tonight. And seeing Pippa is far better than not seeing Pippa.

It’s a lesson she’s learned the hard way after thirty years apart.

But the lights dim and the speaker takes the stage, shuffling through her lecture notes and coughing once or twice to quiet the room before beginning the series on the physiology of magical development in pre-pubescent witches.

It’s of interest. Of course, given Hecate’s work, it’s of interest. After all, seeing Pippa every third Tuesday isn’t the sole reason why she’s joined up with the series. A perk, to be sure, she tells herself, but not a singular motivator.

She squints around the room, distracted, wondering if somehow she’s missed Pippa’s arrival. That maybe Pippa didn’t see her, or was roped into sitting with other, more socially adept witches further back.

But Hecate knows that Pippa’s not here.

Can feel it the way her magic sits within her, swirling with anxiety, but devoid of the sparkle and rush that surges through her nerves whenever she comes to be in Pippa’s immediate proximity.

She lets out a breath and tries to concentrate.

Nascent magic.

Development of young witches.  

Her eyes keep creeping back towards the door.

When it’s over, when she has made a satisfactorily timely exit and has returned to Cackle’s, feeling rather more deflated than when she left, she plucks up her maglet and writes.

_Where were you this evening?_

The message stands out, black and sharp across the white screen.

It reads as demanding and controlling, and she scrubs it away with a huff of a spell.

Tries again.

_I missed you this evening._

It’s the truth.

But it makes her feel needy.  Demanding in a different sort of way. Controlling in a different sort of way.

She cringes.

No, she thinks, perhaps it’s best if she doesn’t write. If Pippa, who encouraged her to attend the series in the first place, didn’t attend tonight, it must be because she’s busy. It shouldn’t have anything to do with Hecate. And it she’s busy, far be it from Hecate to make her feel guilty for it. Or distract her when she hasn’t the time.

She blows on the letters, watching as they scramble together and scatter from the screen.

Setting her maglet down on her desk she crosses to the window and stares out at the night sky.

She’s due for tea at Pippa’s on Friday.

She’ll wait to see her then.

______

Friday dawns bright and clear and Hecate finds it easy to rise from bed and go about her day, fueled by the knowledge of where she’ll end it.

Her lessons sail by and she crams as much as she can into each lab as she dares, keeping the girls busy, keeping herself busy, so her mind hasn’t time to wander.

She’s just wrapped up her last class for the day, her spell to empty out the fourth year’s cauldrons hardly uttered, when her maglet dings. Crossing, she retrieves it from her desk drawer, heart somersaulting warmly at the name across the screen.

 _Pippa_.

Eagerly, she opens the note.

_Hi, Hecate._

She looks down and watches as the bubble that indicates Pippa’s writing blinks a few times, vanishes, then reappears.

She’s about to write Pippa a greeting when Pippa’s second message appears.

_I’m so sorry, but can we raincheck this evening? I feel terrible about the late notice._

Hecate stares down at the maglet, stomach plummeting to her toes. When Pippa doesn’t say more, Hecate sinks down behind her desk and writes.

_Of course. Is everything quite alright?_

She almost writes _with us_ , but doesn’t dare. Tells herself sternly that this probably has very little to do with her.

Pippa doesn’t answer for a long time but when she does, Hecate lets out a long breath.

_Yes, just feeling under the weather, I’m afraid. Next week?_

Clutching her maglet pen Hecate scrawls out, _Next week is fine. Perhaps a Wellness Draught?_

 _I’m just going to go to bed, I think_.

 _Alright. Please feel better_.

She longs to fly to Pentangle’s and care for Pippa, to make her the draught herself, to brew it specially, precisely, exactingly, just for Pippa’s condition and temperament.

_Thanks, Hiccup._

Falling back in her chair she sighs, fingers brushing over Pippa’s words.

Pushing down her disappointment she rises and heads to the library.

If she’s going to spend the night alone, she might as well have the company of a rather good book.

______

The next week is filled with exams and on top of it all, Mildred Hubble once again explodes the potions lab, leaving her under Hecate’s watchful eye in evening detentions.

Then the school is hit by a wave of Witching Pox and Hecate spends all her free time bent over her cauldron, brewing up Fever-Not Tonics and Anti-Itching Solutions. Sybil Hallow has a particular stubborn case of it, and Hecate, fed up with having to herd Ethel Hallow away from Sybil’s doorway, enlists the girl to assist her instead in the lab. It helps a great deal with her stress levels to have a competent pair of hands to put to work. And it keeps Ethel so busy that for one whole week she and Mildred cease their endless bickering in favor of working together over their cauldrons, crushing spine of bat and muddling willow bark by Hecate’s side, both girls solemn faced and determined in light of young Sybil’s predicament.

By the time everyone in the school is well and whole again, Hecate realizes a full month has passed and it’s Tuesday once again. The cool, early spring air feels deliciously fresh against her skin as she opts to fly instead of transferring to the lecture hall, delighting in the feeling of freedom after having been cooped up indoors for so long.

She arrives precisely on time, a mercy, and leans her broom against the wall, eyes sweeping around for Pippa’s bright form. The room is crowded, and she takes a chair near the back, still scanning as the lecture begins.

There’s no sign of Pippa and she frowns.

The lecture should be diverting, but she finds it terribly difficult to focus. After such a busy few weeks with so little time to herself, her mind wanders restlessly.

She hasn’t heard from Pippa in weeks she realizes. She’d been so terribly busy, and Pippa hadn’t rescheduled their plans. As often as her thoughts have stray to Pippa - as they are exasperatingly wont to do -  the time has passed more rapidly than she has realized. Surely Pippa has recovered by now, or surely she would have told Hecate if there was cause for concern.

Her frown deepens.

At the conclusion of the presentation, she rises swiftly, collects her broom, and finds herself in the sky before she can think too much about it. Perhaps Witching Pox has hit Pentangle’s too, she considers. It would stand to reason that Pippa would have her hands full if that were to be the case.

She turns her broom west, the sun a fiery smear in the sky before her, arriving at Pentangle’s just as it’s dipping below the horizon, coating the world in a cool, quiet blue.

Pippa’s window is dark, and she hovers outside, suddenly unsure. Perhaps she should have mirrored, and is suddenly apprehensive about her rash decision to barge in unannounced.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have come at all.

But the window before her swings open, and suddenly Pippa is standing by the sil, looking out at her.

“Hecate?”

“Pippa.”

Pippa doesn’t move, and Hecate’s stomach begins to cramp, the fear that she’s unknowingly crossed a line rising within her like a sick flood.

“I brought you the pamphlet from this evening’s lecture,” she says feebly, conjuring it and holding it out as her broom bobs in midair.

Pippa reaches out slowly, takes it, and seems to shake herself.

“Oh, of course. Thank you. I - “ she looks behind her and shrugs, “- would you like to come in?” She shifts aside, allowing Hecate to navigate through the window’s opening.

Once on solid ground, Hecate looks around, squinting in the near dark.

“Oh,” says Pippa, “lights, I suppose.”

She claps, and the lights come up, though they waver weakly, not quite as bright as they ought to be.

Pippa brushes a hand over her face and gestures Hecate to the settee. “Tea?”

“Please.” Hecate settles in the chair across from Pippa and studies her, frowning a little. “Pippa are you quite well?”

Looking up from where she’s pouring out tea into two cups, Pippa hesitates, dropping her eyes and handing over the teacup without meeting Hecate’s gaze.

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hecate takes the tea but doesn’t sip it.

Pippa looks tired.

There are circles under her eyes and she hasn’t smiled once since Hecate’s unexpected arrival.

She hasn’t written Hecate in weeks now, or mirrored, or invited her around for tea. It’s all most unusual and Hecate’s stomach clenches.

Perhaps Pippa doesn’t want her here.

Perhaps the silence has been a message.

“We’ve had Witching Pox at Cackle’s. I wondered if it has been the same for you.” She says carefully.

Pippa sighs. “No, thank Merlin.”

She doesn’t elaborate and Hecate bites her lip.

“Perhaps I should be going. I did drop in unannounced.”

She expects Pippa to protest, Pippa always protests her departures, but Pippa merely keeps her eyes on her teacup, shoulders hunching slightly. “If you must.” Her voice wavers and so do the lights.

Halfway out of her seat, Hecate pauses. “You were sitting in the dark. Why?”

Pippa glances up and then down again, shrugging.

“When I arrived,” Hecate continues, frown deepening. “Your Illumination Spell  - and just now -” She peers over at Pippa. “Pippa, are you sure you’re quite well?”

Pippa draws a shaky breath and sets down her teacup, drawing her arms around herself instead. “I’m fine.”

Hecate lowers herself back into her seat, studying Pippa’s troubled profile.

“But something is amiss. I do know you, Pipsqueak.”

Pippa bites her lip at the nickname, and Hecate watches as tears pool in the bottoms of her eyes.

“Pippa?”

Pippa shrugs again, trembling fingers dashing at her cheeks. She sniffs and raises her eyes to the ceiling, as if willing her tears to respond to gravity and roll back to whence they came.

“I’m not sure you would understand,” she whispers. And Hecate feels the back of her neck prick.

“I can’t understand if you don’t tell me. But if you do feel you can tell me, I shall do my best to try to understand.”

It’s enough to make Pippa laugh through her tears, the first real exhibit of her typical self that Hecate’s seen since arriving.

“That is a truly Hecate Hardbroom statement.”

Hecate leans forward, uncertain but sincere. “I know I can be an old battle ax, but I do hope that you feel you can talk to me.”

“You’re not a battle ax,” Pippa protests, shaking her head and finally meeting Hecate’s eyes. She sounds more like herself and Hecate exhales slowly. Pippa’s fingers twist together and she hesitates again, dropping her eyes to study them. “I’ve been to a mediwitch,” she confesses. “I got checked out from head to toe. Nothing is amiss. I’m perfectly healthy.”

“But.” Hecate prompts when Pippa goes quiet, fear coursing through her.

Pippa huffs out a sigh. “Perhaps you are the witch to ask. Do you know of a tonic or a tincture -  some sort of brew to help with low energy? I’ve tried Wide Awake Potion, but it gives me a bit of the shakes. I don’t like it. I’ve tried Focusing Formula, but it seems excessive to take a potion everyday just to get through it.”

“You’re not sleeping?”

Shaking her head Pippa sighs again. “Sometimes not. Sometimes I fear I’m sleeping too much. Some days I can hardly get out of bed. If I didn’t have a school to run, girls to look out for, I fear I just never would.” She laughs in a self-deprecating way that Hecate’s never heard from her. “I try to go on runs, or broomstick rides. I tell myself that even just five minutes will help shake me out of feeling like - like,” Pippa breaks off, fingers pressing against the fabric of her dress at her knees. “Like I’m outside myself? If I could just find a way to be _inside_ myself, I think I’d go back to being just fine.” She shrugs. “Do you know a spell for that?”

Hecate peers at her concerned.

She considers her answer, but Pippa seems to interpret her quiet as something else, tears creeping back into her voice as she shakes her head ruefully.  “I often think about if you were me. What you’d do. You’d just work harder. Not let these sorts of feelings hold you back. You’d push onwards. Push yourself to do better. A witch makes things go her way, after all.”

A tear rolls down Pippa’s cheek and Pippa brushes it away with impatient fingers.  “It’s not that I’m not trying,” she whispers.

And Hecate thinks suddenly of her girls. Thinks of how there’s often a student or two, usually around their third year, who will suddenly start to struggle where they hadn’t ever before. Girls who stop coming to class. Or turn up with messy hair and dark eyes. She’s seen it more times than she can count.

“Pippa,” she says softly, and rises, crossing over to sit on the settee beside her. Pippa doesn’t look at her, and Hecate, risking it all, reaches over and takes her hand.

Slowly Pippa’s eyes travel the distance and come up to meet her own.

“I just hoped there was, perhaps, a potion that could fix me,” she whispers and Hecate shakes her head.

“Pippa,” Hecate breathes, squeezing her hand. “You are not broken.”

Pippa’s eyes drop and she shrugs. “Everyone expects me to be happy - all the time. But I have to work so hard at it sometimes. And it’s not that I’m unhappy - I’m just - I’m just - “

“Hurting.” Hecate finishes. Unsure why that word in particular comes to her. But she can hear the pain in Pippa’s voice, can feel it in her own heart as Pippa describes the feeling.

Again Pippa turns rueful. “I shouldn’t be. I have no reason to be.”

Hecate ducks her head until Pippa looks at her again. “Perhaps,” she says slowly, unused to providing this sort of council, “you should think of it less of should versus shouldn't. Broken or whole. Reason or not.”

A small frown draws up between Pippa’s eyebrows. “How do you mean?”

Hecate sits back, keeping Pippa’s hand within her own and considers her response. She settles for describing the girls she’s known. “Surely you have a few at Pentangle’s, too?” She says once she’s recounted her observations. “I see it often with this age group.”

Pippa nods, but then shakes her head. “But I’m not like that. Depression is real and very serious. When girls here exhibit signs, we make sure they get the help and support they need. What I feel - _how_ I feel - it isn’t anything serious. I’m certain it’s me just being silly.”

Hecate brings her other hand up and encloses Pippa’s between her own.

“It is real and it is serious,” she says. Eyes intent on Pippa’s face.

“But - “

“And,” she continues, fingers gentle against Pippa’s skin, “you deserve the help and support you need.”

Pippa gazes at her, mystified. “Hecate, I hardly think that I’m depressed. I’m just - just -  ”

Hecate waits, let’s her finish.

“So _tired_.” Pippa says finely, and Hecate watches as her eyes grow slightly blank.

“Yes.” She says, and doesn’t let go of Pippa’s hand. “That can be a part of it.”

Pippa goes still and stares hard down at their joined hands, though Hecate has a distinct feeling she’s not really seeing them.

“But you would never let yourself get into such a state.” Pippa says, voice flat. “You would never be so weak as to -”

“Don’t glorify me.” Hecate says abruptly. Suddenly she finds that she’s the one to be rueful.  “I fill my days with all manor of things to hold my emotions at arm’s length. And people too. As you know better than most. It doesn’t mean I deal with things the way I ought to. It doesn’t mean I handle things the way I should in times of stress.”

Hecate swallows.

“And I didn’t get out of bed for nearly a month after I left school. After I left you.”

Pippa stares at her.

“Hecate -”

Hecate shakes her head. “When I have a girl in my class who is suddenly falling behind, who is suddenly distant, unengaged, I make her a regimented schedule. I summon her for meal times. I set up timed shower spells. I have her come in for remedial work more to keep her occupied, than because her marks have dropped. Sometimes it’s one of my highest achievers. A girl, going through that - she suddenly sits alone at meals. Drops off the witch ball team. And sometimes I know that I’m not the best fit to lend aid - that regiment, and discipline, and structure isn’t what will help. That my methods will do more harm than good. In that case, Miss Drill takes the girl out on regular flights. Has her help out with younger students to get her out of doors and into the fresh air. Or Miss Bat sets up regular tea times and has the girl in for a chat - hardly my strength - as you very well know -”

Pippa squeezes her hand, eyes suddenly bright. “You’re doing fine,” she whispers, and Hecate blushes.

“I think,” Hecate says carefully, “that it is something to consider.”

“That I’m depressed?” Pippa lets go of her hand and scrubs at her face again.

“Have you ever felt like this before?”

Pippa drops her hands and closes her eyes, slumping back against the back of the settee. “I think?” She shakes her head. “Yes. From time to time. But never as long as this has been going on. Except for -”

She breaks off, head shaking again and Hecate covers her hand again.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Pippa keeps her head against the back of the settee but opens her eyes to look over at her. “I thought, back then, that it was just because I missed you. I didn’t get out of bed either. I couldn’t understand - “

Her eyes close again and she slowly turns her hand over so that she and Hecate are palm to palm.

“But you’re here now,” she whispers. “Aren’t you?”

Pippa’s voice is so fragile, so full of apprehension, that Hecate feels her heart stutter with jagged pain.

“I’m right here.”

They sit palm to palm in silence until Pippa’s breathing becomes a little more even.

“I’m so afraid,” Pippa says, so quietly Hecate can hardly hear her, “that you’ll leave again.” She withdraws her hand and wraps her arms around herself. “I’m afraid that you’ll see me for who I truly am and leave. Or that you’ll see me like this, then you’ll feel like you can’t leave. Even though you might want to.”

Pippa’s shoulders hunch and she turns away from Hecate, back bowing in private grief. “I’m sorry.” Guilt and pain make Pippa’s voice ragged, and Hecate feels skin go cold as her heart splinters.

“Pipsqueak,” she whispers. Reaches out, she places trembling fingertips against Pippa’s back. “Pippa.”

Pippa hunches further and Hecate slides forward, letting her palm rest over Pippa’s shoulder blade in what she hopes is reassurance. “I’m right here. I - I - was such a fool back then. I thought that you would be better off it out me. I hurt you - I hurt myself - if I’m to be honest. I made a choice. And it wasn’t the right one.”

The small, broken sound that bubbles up from Pippa makes Hecate nearly desperate in her need for Pippa to understand.

“I wanted to protect you. And I hurt you instead,” she confesses, voice rendered raw and slow by guilt. “We were always a team, you and I.” Carefully she moves closer, hand moving in a slow circle across Pippa’s shaking back. “And I so foolishly thought that wasn’t what you wanted. But I know now, that we’re better when we work together.”

Carefully, slowly, she shifts so that her arm wraps around Pippa’s shoulders, drawing her back against her. It’s awkward, but Hecate tells herself that she never been anything less than an awkward witch and Pippa knows by now not to expect anything better. And her heart is breaking too much for Pippa to feel much of anything other than a desire to provide whatever comfort she can, no matter how inadequate it might feel.

“I’m still on your team,” Hecate whispers into Pippa hair, “if you want me to be.”

Pippa’s hands are still over her face but she nods, and Hecate pulls her a little closer until she relaxes slightly, slumping back against her, spent from tears and obvious exhaustion.

“We will be a team then,” Hecate promises. “You will not going through this alone, and we will figure it out.”

“Together?” Pippa whispers, voice choked with tears.

“Together.” She smiles wryly. “We are clever witches after all.”

Pippa’s laugh bubbles up and she drops her hands, turning her head until her tear streaked face looks up over her shoulder. It puts their faces rather close together and Hecate swallows.

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore,” Pippa confesses, twisting around so that she’s facing Hecate.

They hesitate, uncertainty heavy between them, but after a moment, Pippa shifts and tucks her head back onto Hecate’s shoulder. Her hands come up and catch Hecate’s watch, playing with it distractedly as her breath puffs warmly against Hecate’s neck. “And I do feel better. When I’m with you.”

Warmth blossoms through Hecate, mingling with relief.

“I - I - haven’t - overstepped?”

Pippa’s fingers still and she tilts her face up, once again so close that Hecate can see each distinct freckle across her nose.

“Knowing that you’re here - know why you left - it - it - ” Pippa takes a shaky inhale - “makes me feel - ” She trails off, hands busying themselves once again, turning Hecate’s watch over and over again between them. “Hope.” She finally says, and looks up again.

Hecate holds her gaze and reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind Pippa’s ear. She brushes her fingers across Pippa’s cheek.

And for the first time since Hecate’s arrival, Pippa smiles.

______

Finding herself unable to leave Pippa, Hecate spends a nearly sleepless night on the  settee, mind whirling long after Pippa, exhausted from her tears, has fallen into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning Pippa is up and about, but there’s a listlessness to her movements as Hecate watches her apply her lipstick from the doorway to the bathroom.

Pippa smiles at her in the mirror, but it’s tight lipped and faint, and Hecate wishes she could whisk Pippa away, take her somewhere out of everyday life, give her time to sit in the sun, and walk beneath green trees.

Pippa must note her starting at her through the glass because she caps her lipstick with a pop and looks uneasily at the floor instead.

“Do you think differently of me now?”

Shaking her head, Hecate enters the bathroom, heels clicking on the tiles, and stands before Pippa, waiting until she turns around, head still bowed.

Hecate wants to reach for her, but the room is small and somehow it feels too intimate. Instead she ducks her head down until Pippa looks up.

“No.” She assures her. And then, “You used to enjoy calisthenics. In the morning. If I recall?”

Pippa shrugs.

“I shall come over thrice a week then. Early.”

Pippa’s eyebrows climb up her forehead. “But you hate mornings. You always have.”

Hecate looks at her determinedly. “I’ve always thought it an area I should improve myself in.”

She delights as Pippa nearly laughs at that. “You’re already the most accomplish witch I know.”

Hecate scoffs. “I’m not the one who opened her own academy when she was hardly into her thirties.”

Pippa blushes, but her eyes look brighter as she regards Hecate.

“You’d really come all the way over here just to - “ she trails off, uncertain.

“I’d propose we stick to broomstick work to start with.”

Pippa does laugh then. “Because you’re still terrible at running.”

“And why run when one can transfer? Be sensible, Pippa. Any seasoned witch would clearly understand - ”

A hand finds her arm and squeezes. “You are so awfuly easy to tease, Hiccup.” Pippa’s eyes still look bright and amused and Hecate flushes in satisfaction.

“Mondays, Wednesdays, Friday.”

“Deal.” Pippa’s looking at her, a slightly unreadable expression flitting across her face, but she still looks alert and Hecate nods approvingly.

“And if you don’t feel up to it, we will simply take a walk around the grounds.”

“I’d like that,” Pippa whispers, tears in her eyes again.

“Good.”

Hecate’s watch begins to hum and she reaches up to still it. “I should transfer back to Cackle’s. But -” she hesitates, studying Pippa, bidding her to see her as sincere, “I’m only a mirror or maglet away.”

Pippa nods, head ducking, and Hecate brushes her fingers down Pippa’s sleeve before turning to reenter the sitting room where she collects her broom.

“Friday morning, then?”

“See you then.”

They share a smile and Hecate winks out.

She returns to Cackle’s but feels as though she’s left her heart behind.

_____

They take things slowly.

Friday morning Pippa is up and ready with her broom, hair tied back and determination across her features. They take a slow tour of the sky around Pentangle’s and Pippa’s cheeks are pink when they land and seems to have more energy as Hecate joins her for a quick breakfast.

Hecate mirrors with Pippa throughout the weekend, initiating the calls whereas she has only ever waited for Pippa to call her before. Pippa looks tired, and seems rather listless, and Hecate suggests they keep the connection up and simply go about their business as they otherwise would.

Pippa’s relief is clear, and they pass a companionable day, Hecate grading, Pippa working through reports to the Pentangle’s Board.

It’s raining at Cackle’s and Hecate conjures a warm fire in the grate, content to sit at her desk, content to have Pippa nearby, even though the connection is facilitated via magic. She looks up after sometime and finds Pippa curled on the settee, eyes closed through Hecate knows she’s not sleeping.

Hecate focuses rather hard, and at the proper time, a tray arrives, with a cup filled with hot, strong tea just the way Pippa likes it, and a pink, sugared donut that Hecate cannot believe she’s been the one to conjure. Pippa’s eyes blink open, and after a long while she sits up and carefully takes the tea.

“It’s still warm,” she murmurs.

Hecate nods approvingly and Pippa nibbles a bit on the donut, before giving up and laying back down.

“I have to go down to dinner,” Pippa whispers, eventually, looking through the glass and Hecate can see the anxiety in her eyes. “I don’t like to miss dinners. It’s good for the girls to have consistency at mealtimes. And it’s important to me.”

But Pippa’s voice quivers and Hecate moves in and sits next to the glass, looking through to her, wishing she could do more to help.

“You like chess,” Hecate surmises and Pippa looks at her in confusion.

“Yes?”

“Think of it, maybe, like a chess game. Break it down into pieces. One step at a time. Yes, there’s a goal: go down to dinner. But first, steps. First Step: sit up.”

Pippa pushes herself up. Looks at her, waiting.

“Second Step: Have some water.”

Hecate pushes hard with her magic and a glass appears in Pippa’s hand. Pippa sips at it obediently, eyes on Hecate.

Nodding, Hecate gently runs her magic over Pippa, smoothing down her hair, adjusting the collar of her dress to lie flat. Performing magic over such a distance leaves her a little breathless, and she sits back, breathing heavily as Pippa reaches up and touches her freshly untangled hair.

“Hecate - you don’t have to - “

“I wanted to.” Hecate shakes her head and survey Pippa. “Now. Third Step: stand. Forth: walk to the door. Fifth: the stairs.”

Pippa blushes a little, “I should be able to transfer.”

“I think it’s wise to save your energy.”

“But you’re always saying that witches are becoming less and less powerful - and my magic - “

“Pippa,” Hecate reaches out and nearly touches the glass. “You are a powerful witch. One of the most powerful I have met, or likely will ever meet. I know first hand you can transfer faster than even I. I’ve always been rather a jealous witch over your skill, if you must know.” She fixed Pippa with a stern eye. “Storing energy is wise when under stress. And you are under stress. A witch cannot perform the the best of her abilities if she’s not attending to her health. Eating dinner will help with your energy as well. These are all things that shouldn’t be viewed as weakness but as strength.”

“But you -”

“Hush,” Hecate does place her fingers on the glass then to soften her words. “I am aware that I have many staunch beliefs. And that I fixate on rigor and discipline.” She pauses, thinks of Mildred Hubble, and says softly. “What method works for me, might not be what works for another witch.” She bushes and say tightly, “I’ve come to realize that I am still learning.”

“Thank you,” Pippa breathes, face close to the mirror, and her own fingers come out and rest against where Hecate’s press against the glass.

Hecate finds her eyes. “I have to chaperone witch ball with Miss Drill tomorrow.” She punctures how she feels about the matter with a disparaging eye roll that has Pippa smirking.  “But I will see you Monday morning.”

Pippa nods. “We’re having a chanting competition tomorrow.” She looks contemplative and then nods. “Break it down into steps,” she repeats, and looks back up with a small smile.

“I’ll send a Headache Serum then. For after.” Grimacing once again in an an affected manner, Hecate is rewarded once again with Pippa’s laugh.

Hecate smiles crookedly.

“Goodnight, Pippa.”

“Goodnight, Hiccup.”

______

Wednesday morning Pippa’s hardly up when Hecate arrives. She’s still in her pajamas and seems distracted and exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, studying her bare feet. “You’ve come all this way. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Hecate takes her hand and presses it, shaking her head.

“Everyday is allowed to feel different.”

It’s not advice she gives to herself, she knows, but, somehow, it feels right for Pippa.

“A shower, perhaps? Then tea?”

Pippa nods and twenty minutes later is sitting, dressed in her daywear, nose in her teacup as steam curls around her face. Hecate sits beside her, sipping from her own cup. There’s a daily paper that has appeared by scheduled magic on the table before them, and Hecate plucks it up. Mindlessly, she begins to read aloud to Pippa, who curls beside her, eyes never leaving Hecate’s face.

By the time Hecate’s watch hums, Pippa’s looking more at ease.

They discuss a strategy for Pippa’s day, and Hecate takes her leave, reluctant as ever to say farewell.

______

Hecate, unused to pushing the boundary of intimacy with anyone, unused to offering invitations -  unused to receiving them from anyone other than Pippa - makes a point of setting up consistent, uncomplicated outings.

It takes a great deal of forethought.

And deep, slow, measured breathing.

But she improves at magletting Pippa or mirroring her, whether to simply chat, or to initiate a meeting.

Picnics in the early spring gardens at Pentangle’s.

A walk one evening along the parapets of Cackle’s.

She collects Pippa every third Tuesday evening and accompanies her to the lecture, flying alongside her as they chat about their weeks and speculate about the content of that month’s program.

Summer draws nearer and Pippa tilts her face up to the sun. She’s so precious, so dear, that Hecate’s breath catches in her throat, sticking there as Pippa’s fingers brush over the tops of roses in the Cackle’s greenhouse. It’s Hecate’s secret world - off limits to the girls - even the teachers dare not tread upon what is known to be her realm.

But Pippa.

Pippa belongs here, Hecate decides.

Belongs amongst the musk roses, and sweet tulips, and brave, budding hyacinths.

Their eyes meet and Pippa blushes, eyes dropping down to the climbing sweet peas that run between them and then back up, and Hecate can’t help the way her own cheeks pink as Pippa’s eyes slide back up once again to find her own.

______

“Do you think I’ll ever be cured?” Pippa wonders one day, fingers moving restlessly against a rook as they hunker over Hecate’s chessboard. She seems to make a decision, but at the last moment wavers, and moves her knight back a few spaces.

Hecate studies the board. “Perhaps it’s not something one cures,” she says slowly, and looks up at Pippa. “You’re learning to manage it. You’re very skilled now at planning how to best tackle the things that often seem the most challenging. You’re able to ask for help when you need it - most of the time. You’ve even found a mediwitch who specializes in the matter whom you can talk to regularly - “

“I know you don’t believe in that sort of thing -”

Hecate pauses, finger freezing on a pawn.

She sits back with a sigh.

“No, but that doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you for pursuing something that has helped. And perhaps - perhaps - “

She struggles and Pippa reaches out and takes her hand.

“Perhaps?”

“Perhaps when I was young - ?” She breaks off, uncertain, but at Pippa’s nod, swallows and continues. “Perhaps when I was young I could have benefited from having someone to confide in. There was so much I didn’t understand about myself. About my emotions.”

Pippa’s eyes are open and warm and she tugs Hecate’s hand closer, wrapping both of her own around it. “Broomhead didn’t want you to feel your emotions. Neither did your father. They tied it in with your magic and forced you to control them both.”

Hecate ducks her eyes, eyes stinging, though she can’t quite voice why.

“Hecate - “

Pippa voice is soft and when she looks up, Pippa’s eyes hold hers intently.

“I know there’s a lot you hide. Pain. Regret. Fear. You’ve put it all aside to be here for me. Every day. Every week. I always thought you were the strongest witch I knew because you seemed to have such a masterful control of your emotions. I thought I should have the same sort of command.”

Hecate eyes drop and she feels Pippa move around to sit beside her. Fingers find her chin and suddenly Pippa’s eyes are back on her own.

“Now I know you’re the strongest witch. I know because even though you rarely show them, you feel your emotions so completely. You’re compassionate, and protective, and you’ve been so gentle with me and I - I - “

Pippa’s fingers tremble where they touch her cheek and Hecate can hardly breath.

“I’ve been so lost,” Pippa whispers. “Everything feels so dark and bleak sometimes. But when I think about you, I feel brave. I feel such hope when I think of the witch you are. The type of witch I’d like to be.”

Hecate shakes her head. “I don’t want you to hide your emotions away, Pipsqueak,” she whispers. “I don’t want you to be anything less than what you are.”

Pippa looks doubtful, and Hecate slowly moves her hand in Pippa’s until she can clasp it in her own. “You make everything so beautiful. You notice those who are often feeling a little alone, a little lost. You fight for those who need it most. It is I who wish to be more like you.”

At Pippa’s look of surprise, Hecate squeezes her hand. “I’ve learned so much from you, Pipsqueak. Any gentleness I possess is because while Broomhead taught me be powerful, you taught me to be kind.”

She doesn’t expect Pippa’s tears, but when they come, they come in large, gulping gasps, and Hecate suddenly finds herself with an armful of Pippa, shuddering and sobbing into her neck, arms tightly around her, fingers clutching her back.

Pippa’s choking out things but Hecate can hardly make out through her tears. So instead she focuses on holding her, hands pressed solidly against Pippa’s quivering back, hoping it will reassure her, hoping that by holding her close she can somehow provide a little comfort.

Slowly, Pippa calms in her arms, but remains close, breath warm against her neck as she clings to her. Hecate can feel Pippa’s heartbeat. Can feel her own heartbeat. Suddenly she’s far too aware of their breathing. How is gradually growing heavier as the minutes tick by between them.

“Hecate,” Pippa whispers, not moving.

And Hecate can’t think of a response. Simply presses her hands against Pippa’s back a little more firmly and hopes it’s answer enough.

Slowly, slowly, Pippa looks up.

Her eyes are red and teardrops cling to her lashes. Her damp cheeks are pink, and her hair mussed, and Hecate holds her gaze, in awe of how precious Pippa is to her.

They look at each other for a long, long moment.

Then, as if time were stretched between them, slowed down and weighted with promise, Pippa presses herself up and kisses her.

And time completely halts.

Slows until all Hecate can feel is Pippa’s mouth against her own, gentle and warm, a little hesitant, but so terribly, achingly sweet.

She gasps and Pippa draws back, blushing.

But Hecate’s hands come up and cup her face, eyes searching Pippa’s, hardly daring to hope. Pippa gives a slight nod, and Hecate guides her back in.

Their second kiss is just as gentle, just a slow, warm press of heat, and when Hecate pulls back Pippa smiles.

“I love you.”

Pippa says it with such certainty that Hecate can’t help the tears that come to her own eyes.

Pippa’s fingers find them and brush them away, and Hecate lets out a shuddering breath, over thirty years in the making.

“I love you, too, Pipsqueak.”

It comes out haltingly, as if she can’t believe the words are hers to say, but she means them so sincerely, and Pippa laughs a little in amazed delight, ducking back in to kiss her again.

It’s less gentle this time, and rather more exploratory, and Hecate shivers at how it makes her magic spark and tingle, flaring across her skin until she has to draw back, staring at Pippa in wonder.

“You said were always better as team,” Pippa whispers, fingers tracing Hecate’s lips before covering them with her own again.

“Yes,” Hecate murmurs, hands sliding back to Pippa’s shoulder blades, pulling her close.

Pippa’s lips brush against her cheek, her fingers pressing into Hecate’s back as they hold each other.

“For the first time in a long time,” Pippa breathes, “I’m not afraid of facing tomorrow.”

Hecate guides her back and gently brushes Pippa’s hair behind her ear with careful fingers.

“As a team?”

Pippa smiles.

“As a team.”


End file.
